


Learning the Cost of Desire

by TheBarghestsNotebook



Series: I am the Drug and You are my Addict [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Dark!Steve Rogers - Freeform, Dom/sub, F/M, Not really Steve/Reader but we're getting there, Violence, dark!Reader, dom!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 01:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13987200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBarghestsNotebook/pseuds/TheBarghestsNotebook
Summary: Getting information out of others is the Reader's specialty. But why do it the easy way when you could watch someone else do it? Steve Rogers has been the good guy for far too long, it's time he dipped his toe in darker waters.





	Learning the Cost of Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Finals are coming and I needed something to let off steam. Hey, at least this is a month after the last installment instead of an academic quarter.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

That age old question, really. He always seemed to be asking me that. He always seem so incredulous towards my actions. Why kill when I could incapacitate? Why cut when I could hit? Why scare when I could just as easily take them out without them knowing? Why play with my food when I am so quick to take them down other times? Why lick my lips and split a grin? Why revel in the gore that I created? Why treat the enemy like pests that needed to be squashed? Why want to tear men limb from limb? Why act like such a monster? Why let my fantasies play out in my head while I kill and shred and decapitate and murder and destroy and main and humiliate and obliterate?

He always asked me these questions without wanting to know the answer.

“Interrogation,” I responded, kicking the chair over and sending the man bound there with it. He crashed to the ground and let out a yelp into his gag.

“This is torture,” Rogers said as he walked farther into the tent.

There seemed to be an abundance of insurgents into Wakandan territory since T’Challa made his grand announcement about the nation’s true abilities. The just kept coming, just coming and coming. And the dear walking flag and I were put in charge of rooting out the rats that scurried through the underbrush. Might as well give us something to do and keep us away from the capital while nations sent ambassadors in. Wouldn’t want another international incident, would we?

“Your government doesn’t seem to know the difference,” I said as I righted the chair. Rogers didn’t seem to know the difference either. This, what I had been doing to the whelp, wasn’t torture. It was nowhere near the torture I could produce. There was no waterboarding, nothing under the nails, no psychological warfare, no flaying him alive inch by inch. Nothing about what I was doing was torture. All Rogers saw were the lashes on the man’s skin, the torn clothing, the bleeding wounds, the bruises all over his body, the tears in his eyes. I looked at Rogers to correct myself, “Sorry, your old government.”

“That’s not the point,” he started, but dear old Cap was cut off by my prisoner. The man realized who was standing in front of him, realized who the broad shouldered beauty was. Even underneath the unkempt hair and beard, Steve Rogers could never escape the spotlight that was Captain America. He could never escape the American Dream that was forced upon him and sewn into his very being.

But all stitches could be cut. 

The man bound to the chair cried out, begging for Rogers’ attention. His eyes pleaded for help and safety. The hope in his soul flickering back to life for a mere instant at the sight of the American hero. Didn’t matter that Rogers was deemed a fugitive, didn’t matter that Rogers turned his back on the American government in order to save my soldier. None of what he had done mattered. All that mattered was that this man saw The figure of freedom and safety that had been shoved in the faces of children for decades. The look of admiration in the man’s eyes was pathetic and I could see just how conflicted it made the dear Captain America.

“Why are you doing this?” Rogers asked me, managing to tear his gaze from my captive.

“He knows where the rest of the enemy camps are,” I said, coming to stand before my companion. “I’m going to get him to tell me where.”

“Why not just read his mind?” He took the defiant stance he always took, legs apart and hands on his belt, shoulders squared, eyes looking down at me and chin out. It was a good look on him. It was a look that made me want to force him to his knees and beg forgiveness for questioning me. It made me want to grab at his crotch and make me wilt in my palm. It made me want to do so many things to him. So many things. Rogers’ gaze hardened when he saw the look in my eyes change. But I knew that wasn’t going to be the only thing by the end of this. Not with him standing so close to me, sharing my space, breathing in my scent. He may not have been as broken as my soldier, not as many cracks for me sneak through, but he prided himself on freedom and I was going to make him choose all on his own. I was going to make him choose me.

“Because that’s not the point,” I said. “This man is in charge of other men trying to force their way into Wakanda’s capital. This man ordered for soldiers to attack outposts for distractions. This man had rhinos killed and then poached their horns. This man,” I spat, “desecrated sacred Wakandan ground and thought it was funny. This man is actively hunting Bucky down.” There we go, those were the words that got to him. Sweeten up the deal with where his loyalties lied before going in for the kill. Remind him that he was working for a king who had enemies of his own and then remind him that that same king was what was keeping his best friend safe. Remind him of the dangerous that any invaders brought with them. Remind him of who he betrayed his country for. “It would be too easy to just read his mind, Rogers. He isn’t just some man following orders. He might have been made to come here but he made the decisions to tramble the land. He made the decisions to wreak havoc on the forest. He made the decision to continue to follow his orders when he would have just disappeared, when he could have just surrendered, when he could have just left well enough alone.” 

I watched as Rogers slowly turned his head to look at the commander. I watched the gears turn in his head as he processed the severity of the situation. We could have easily gotten the information that we needed, but then what? Send him on his way? A swat on the wrist and that was that? Or remind him of what crimes he was committing and make sure it never happened again?

I leaned forward ever so slightly, I let my scent fill the air every time Rogers breathed in. He took such labored breaths when he was put in a situation where his morals were questioned. For so long he had been the good boy, the good old American boy, the patriot of justice, the symbol of freedom. Why would he take his frustrations out on anyone? Why would he ever act like a bad boy for just one night? Why would he ever step out of line? Why would he ever stop acting like the perfect soldier? But he wasn’t he perfect soldier. He was a good man. That’s what was got him into the program in the first place, wasn’t it? That he was such a good man that the serum had only good to accentuate. But he wasn’t being pumped full of Super Soldier Serum anymore, was he? He was just Steve Rogers now. He may have been a captain but he was no longer Captain America. He threw that title away when he decided to save my soldier. 

There was nothing keeping from doing a dirty deed here and there. There was nothing stopping him from taking justice into his own hands. There was no one controlling him. He was a symbol of freedom because he was a free man. No one could stop him from taking revenge on a man who brought harm and who was planning on bringing so much more harm.

Go ahead, Steve Rogers. I could feel it bubbling in his chest, the beast that growled and prowled within him. I could hear the blood pumping through his veins as he thought about what he could do to the commander.

He took a step forward.

_ Good. _

He took another step forward.

_ Yes. _

He stood in front of the commander and looked down at the sniveling mess.

_ Be a good boy. _

Steve Rogers punched the commander in the face.

There was a crack as he broke the man’s nose. The commander screamed in pain, a scream that caught in the gag and muffled to an oh so sweet sound. I watched as Rogers took a step back and looked at his fist. He couldn’t believe he had just done that. He couldn’t believe he just hurt a defenseless man. But he had. He had.

He was the one who chose to throw the punch. No one forced him, no one told him to, no one made him. And no one stopped him. It was all him. It was all Steve Rogers.

He took a breath as he tried to steady himself. And I could see that breath shudder as it really took hold of him. The feelings of power. The smell of blood on his glove. His own blood racing through his veins. The knowledge that his cock twitched.

Steve Rogers looked back at the man, at the crying sniveling pathetic man. And he punched the commander again. And again. And again.

And then he kicked the commander in the chest and sent him backward to the ground. Rogers crouched over him and hit him again. And gain. And again. Over and over and over again.

Broken bones, ruptured organs, and muffled screams.

Rogers tore off the gag and the softest whimper came out. And then the commander told us every single enemy camp location before he died a sweet death.

Then there was silence. Dead silence.

Rogers, still kneeling on the ground, slowly looked up at him. There was regret in his eyes, but that barely hid the bloodlust. Barely hid the sense of accomplishment. Barely hid the fact that he enjoyed every minute of it.His legs were weak, he couldn’t bring himself to stand. He could only breath hard and lock gazes with him. I loved seeing him like that, I loved looking down at him. 

And I could tell there was a part of him that loved looking up at me. 


End file.
